


The Honest Man's Endgame

by auralikh



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Injury, Dystopia, Escape, False Accusations, Implied/Referenced Abuse, M/M, Other characters will be added as necessary, Prison, Resistance, True Accusations
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 22:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17010504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auralikh/pseuds/auralikh
Summary: Saihara is given the life sentence in jail for a series of murders that he never committed. He finds it hard to believe that there are so many other teenagers that have actually committed such heinous felonies either.





	The Honest Man's Endgame

_ I’m not supposed to be here. _

Saihara felt a push from behind and he jumped, shoulders instinctively shrinking back on himself. He stared down at the cold, concrete floor because at least he wouldn’t have to see what else is in front of him, and a plain cold floor was merciful enough to leave some ambiguity. It looked sort of like a city sidewalk where the gum and trash were cleaned off but one could still tell it’s a street not used to kindness. Or maybe just a floor of a house that has barely started on construction and didn’t get to installing the oak wood flooring. It could also-

Oh, what use was there to try to delude himself.

He’s released from his bindings for just a second and if Saihara knew anything about fighting, he might’ve had a chance to make a break for it, but instead he’s pushed inside and hears the loud clank of iron behind him. Saihara turns around slowly, rubbing his wrists, watching the guard walk away on the other side of the iron bars. 

Bars. He lifted his hand and his joints felt like they were creaking. He wanted to tell himself it wasn’t a truth, this is just another over-reactive nightmare he’s having because he didn’t study properly for his chemistry test. His hand approached the bars and they didn’t seem to become any faker. It could be something like… imitation prison, styrofoam bars with a paper wrapping painted with excruciating detail to capture every dent and stain.

He touched the bar. Solid, cold, a blunt reminder of reality.

It was at that moment when all the tears that Saihara had been holding back out of sheer fear of some retaliation started to break through, first in small bursts and hiccups, then all at once. The prison cell seemed to close in on him, dark walls caving closer and closer with no sign of bed or toilet, just a shrinking cube that’ll suffocate and crush his lungs. It’s practically impossible to get a re-trial, even after his uncle has already worked so hard to defend him. That’s just how the legal system is. He’s never committed even a misdemeanor in his life, yet now-

“Hey!” The light thump of a pillow makes Saihara open his eyes, “Some of us are trying to get some sleep here! Besides, no one’s gonna want to see a big puffy face in the morning. Sheesh, people’s stuffy noses are so annoying.”

Saihara turns his head and opens up his fingers just enough for his eyes to look at the person who threw the pillow. Another boy who looked about his age, if not younger, with dark purple hair. “....Sorry.”

“Last person who just started bawling like that got the guards all night until he just exploded like a big ol water balloon full of tears.” The other person made a completely exaggerated yawn, complete with a snot bubble that made him look more like a caricature than a real person, “But at least the tears made the guts easier to clean up.”

Saihara just tries to not sniffle too loud and wipes the tears from his eyes, “S-sorry…” Is the only thing he can say, again. He couldn’t even call out the blatantly obvious lie that this boy was making up.

“Eww, that pillow’s gotta be all dirty and full of germs now. You can cuddle with it for the night. I don’t want any of your tears on me.” The boy laid back down and turned away from Saihara. 

Saihara opened his mouth but he had no idea what to say. He didn’t want to risk potentially making this boy angry, even though this boy looked much smaller in frame. He’s a prisoner after all, who knows what anyone here is capable of. It could be something as small as stealing or something as horrible as…

Saihara picked up the pillow from the ground and tried his best to climb up the bunk bed without too much noise. The frame creaked at the last step and Saihara froze, but the boy underneath him didn’t seem to notice. With a deep breath, he pulled himself up to the mattress that barely adjusted to his weight. There was already a pillow up there, which probably meant that the other person threw away their one pillow but Saihara was too on edge to try anything besides lay down and try to pull the smelly blanket over him with minimal movement. 

“Night, don’t let the bed bugs bite too much! Or do, if you’re into that!” Saihara nodded without realizing that the other wouldn’t be able to see that and closed his eyes.

* * *

His name is Kokichi Ouma, and that might be the most honest thing that this boy has ever said about himself. One second he claims that he’s only been in this cell for three days, two minutes later he says he’s been here a whole four years. There’s a bunch of different durations in between but Saihara couldn’t bother to keep track. The things Ouma said about  _ what _ got him in the slammer were exponentially more varied.

_ “I murdered a woman and her three children while the husband was tied up, all helpless.” _

_ “Hm, which one did they actually try me for? Arson? Probably arson.” _

_ “Turns out cannibalism is still a crime even if the victim was probably going to be arrested for life anyway. Big surprise, right? I was shook too.” _

But the grandiose nature of all of the crimes he’s spewed out made Saihara suspect that the reality is much more tame, almost something not worth talking about. If there’s one thing that Saihara can ascertain, it would be that Ouma doesn’t seem malicious by nature. 

The first time he ate in the mess hall, Saihara tried to sit away from everyone, particularly from the bigger men that looked like they could crush him, but he could only take one bite in when a fork was stabbed right into his left hand.

Saihara screamed and looked up to see a girl glaring at him with red eyes that could serve murder on a cold platter.

“Get out of my table.” Her words were just as cold as the metal. 

“I-I-... Sorry, I’ll move out of the w-aaaaaahhhh-” Saihara bit his lip and tried to get up when some radish flew right into the girl’s cheek. 

“Harukawa-chan, save that snack for some of us too~!” Ouma waved from another table and everyone that sat remotely close to him moved aside. Harukawa pulled the fork out and Saihara brought his hand closer, trying to reduce the bleeding.

“Do you want to die?”

“You know, you should really come up with some other lines since repeating the same thing over and over makes really bad forepl-”

Saihara found himself able to breathe again. Most likely because the fork is no longer inside his hand. Now it’s just on the table. Why? Because this girl’s hands were too busy holding up Ouma by the neck.

The guards appeared like clockwork, though that metaphor may not necessarily apply because they drudged in, batons in hand, muttering about whether it’d be best to “just let the gremlin die this time.” The girl didn’t even need to hear what they had to say, she just gave Ouma’s throat one last squeeze and let him drop to the floor. Nobody else seemed to pay it any mind, except for one guy with a goatee grumbling and giving some ridiculously short guy some cigarettes (probably from a bet). Is this their normal? Is this supposed to be Saihara’s new normal? He can’t get himself to think deeply about it because his hand was too busy being in pain and panicking over the metal intrusion that had occurred moments ago. You know, from being stabbed with a fork. Maybe he would’ve paid attention to what Ouma was telling him (how did he recover so quickly from being strangled anyway?) and registered it as something more than just annoying babbling if he hadn’t just been stabbed with a fork. 

There was other mumbling too and it turned out it was the guards, again. One practically yanked Saihara up by the collar and the other pushed him to lead him out of the cafeteria to get his hand fixed up so “they won’t have to deal with his crying if he gets an infection.” Saihara tried to bite his lip so he wouldn’t make himself look too pathetic. Instead it made him look like a weeping mess that was barely holding back an even larger crying disaster. That horse neigh of a laugh was the last thing Saihara hears before leaving the cafeteria. Was it because of him looking like a crybaby? Probably.


End file.
